


A New Promise : Level Four, Love

by Spadesjade



Series: Tom and Michelle [5]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Kidney Stones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spadesjade/pseuds/Spadesjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michelle has kidney stones. Tom takes care of her when she goes to the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Promise : Level Four, Love

Pain. 

In my side, in my back. Pain that I had dismissed at first as bad gas, blaming it on something I ate. But it wasn't. It stuck around. For three days. It hurt so much I could barely walk, just sit on my couch. At work I sat whenever possible. I was lazy, but not that lazy.

Tom was worried. He was finishing filming and the thought of him leaving was wearing between us, and maybe he was just hyper sensitive to everything going on concerning us. I was worried about it too, more worried than I wanted to admit.

But still...pain.

We were in his little kitchen, washing his dishes, after a nice take-out meal of baked spaghetti. He hadn't even started to pack his clothes, but I could see the personal items he'd accumulated gathered together and set by a few boxes, primed for shipping. He'd had the day off but I'd surprised him by getting off of work early. I didn't tell him they'd kicked me out because I was in pain. By the time I'd gotten to Tom's it had eased off anyway so I was getting ready to dismiss it.

I knew that wasn't going to work much longer.

"So what paranoid fantasy has you frowning this time?" he asked as he handed me the last of the plates. I dried it, set it down on the counter. Apparently he'd seen me scowling. I'd been standing the last fifteen minutes and the pain was starting to come back.

But I also couldn't lie. If I denied he'd see through it. "I just...don't want you to go."

"Me neither." He pulled me into his arms, pressing a bit harder than I could take at the moment. One hand rested on my hip and I inadvertently gave a little "ow."

"What?" he asked, concerned. I stepped away from him and sat down at the little kitchenette. 

"Sorry," I muttered.

"Still that same pain?" he asked. "Have you seen your doctor?"

"I'm waiting for it to go away," I declared.

"And if it doesn't? How long are you going to wait?"

"As long as it takes."

"And suffer in the meanwhile?"

I shrugged.

"Michelle, why won't you go to the doctor? You work at a hospital. Is that why? You're worried about...I don't know. The treatment being worse? Other things you've seen?" He looked at me, those damn eyes probing. "Or your just plain afraid of what it is."

I still didn't answer.

"If it's serious, ignoring it won't make it go away," Tom said, very gently as he crouched down in front of me. He could read me pretty well, and I felt another irrational tear-up starting. He reached out, stroked my cheek with those pretty fingers. "Come on, I'll go with you, if you want--"

"You're busy," I started.

"You're my girlfriend," he murmured. "You're important. I can make time. Just make the call, and I'll go whenever."

I shook my head. "You...you have too many other things to do. I'll go, I promise."

"So other than the pain, what is your new paranoid fantasy?" he asked, pulling a chair and sitting. 

I looked at him, shocked. "What?"

"Come on. Let's have it."

I stuttered, stalled, but Tom just kept his gaze level, waiting. Finally, I said, "I'm afraid that when you leave you'll forget about me. Or--" I cut in when his mouth opened and his brow scrunched in disapproval, "--you'll get so busy you'll be too distracted and realize that this was nice while it lasted but it won't last indefinitely."

He let out a sigh as the scowl fell away and he cocked his head slightly to one side, looking at me thoughtfully. "I won't," he said. "You know that, right?"

I shrugged. "I mean, it's not as crazy as I wish it was. We've had a nice thing here, but it will change when you're not here. And now I'm dating someone in another country."

"So am I," he pointed out, leaning toward me and reaching for my hand, which I let him have. "You think I'm not worried about you going on with your life here, adjusting back to normal without me, and realizing that I was probably more trouble than I was worth?"

"You weren't," I replied, very evenly.

"See? But first things first, you need to get checked. You could have a kidney stone for all you know."

\----------

I did have a kidney stone.

Not just any kidney stone. A MUTANT kidney stone.

Most of them were small enough to pass through the tube, with the proper medication. It was painful, but treatable. My kidney stone was almost two centimeters across. As kidney stones go, it was the Godzilla of kidney stones. I don't know how it got so big without me knowing about it sooner.

The reason the pain kept coming and going was because the stone would shift toward and stop at the tube to my bladder where it was supposed to exit, but it was too big so it would get stuck. Hence the pain. Then something would slide it back up into the kidney, and the pain would pass. 

It had to come out. It was too big for them to use the sonic method, using sound waves to destroy it with vibrations. They had to go in and laser the bastard out. 

I had never had any kind of procedure before. Not appendix, not tonsils. The worse I'd ever experienced was getting my wisdom teeth removed, but I'd been awake. I was getting anesthetic. It would take at least four or five days to recover. 

They could only schedule it for the end of next week. The beginning of my six days off, thankfully. 

But also when Tom was due to leave. 

I knew I'd need someone to take me. I wouldn't have had a problem asking him if it wasn't right when he was supposed to be prepping to go back to London, closing up his apartment. His lease would be done in a few days, March was approaching, and I didn't want to be an unpleasant distraction. I knew I'd be groggy and sleeping but I'd also have to pee a lot so it wasn't like I wouldn't be up and around and able to take care of my own basic needs. 

I tried some friends -- most of them were working and only a few were possibilities. 

"At least it's going to be done at your hospital," Tom said over the phone when I told him what was going to happen. "When is this happening?"

"Friday," I said.

"Oh, that's perfect, actually." I could hear shuffling and he had put me on speaker so he could fiddle with his phone. "Ok, I need to move into the hotel on Thursday then, to be sure."

"What? Tom, what are you talking about?"

"I'm taking you, aren't I?"

"But you're leaving--"

"No, I put it off another two weeks," he said, and he was off speaker. "I'm in a hotel not too far from your hospital, actually."

"You don't have to do that."

He paused. "I would say that I do, but instead I'll just say, I want to. In fact, I insist."

He was going to stay an extra two weeks. Because of a kidney stone.

Not what I would have wanted, really.

"I take it you're not up for the wrap party?" he asked. "I know you're in pain, but maybe if we get you into a nice, cushy chair you can at least hang out. I know you're better when you're sitting. If not, I totally understand, please just tell me--"

He was going to take me to the hospital and put off his departure by two weeks. The least I could do was endure an evening on a strange couch instead of on my couch.

\----------------

It was all over the party that I had a kidney stone within the first fifteen minutes of our arrival. Tom made such a fuss over me, getting me somewhere comfortable, making sure I had a drink (no alcohol, and lots of water, doctor's orders) and stuff to munch although I wasn't hungry. I was both embarrassed and ridiculously touched at how he coddled me. He would disappear to talk to this person or that person, take pictures, whatever anyone wanted, but he would never leave me for longer than fifteen or twenty minutes at a stretch. When he returned, he would kiss me, ask me if I was okay, play with my hair, hold my hand for a few minutes, and then be off again.

He was so nauseatingly sweet. I wished I had the energy to kiss his lips off.

Everyone had a kidney stone story. My personal favorite was how one of the grips had gotten his made into a pendant for his wife to wear around her neck. "A human pearl," he called it.

I doubted there would be anything left of my stone. They'd have to really blast it to get it out. If it was any larger, they'd have to perform surgery and cut me open to get it out -- then, maybe, they'd give it to me, after examining it. I didn't want to be cut open, no matter how small the incision would be. I was happy my urologist was going to try the tube way first. Of course, he had warned me that if my tube was too small, he'd have to put in a splint to enlarge it and they'd have to go back in a week and try again. 

This made me a bit nervous. I wanted one and done. Period.

Friday came much faster than I thought it would. Truthfully, I was grateful -- the pain was getting increasingly worse. At nine, Tom picked me up. At nine-fifteen, I was checking in. By ten, I was being called back and the paperwork was finalized. By ten-thirty, I was getting into the purple smocks -- one for the front, one for the back -- and lying in my little bed, which wasn't too bad. The out-patient section was well organized and my nurse was someone I'd come across once or twice and found kind enough. By ten-fifty, Tom was allowed to come back and sit with me for a bit before I was taken away.

"How are you?" he asked.

I showed him my IV. I'd had one or two for various tests, but for being a big girl, my veins were surprisingly uncooperative. "They had some trouble." I showed him my other hand, which was already starting to bruise. As this hand was closer, he was able to gently grasp it and kiss it, then rub it lightly with his thumb.

"They given you anything yet?"

"Not yet," the nurse, Penny, replied for me. "We'll flush it, but when the anesthesiologist arrives, she might have something."

I felt the weird cold prickle of them washing out the IV. I gently put my hand back down, worried about jostling it. It was fine when it was in other people -- in me, it felt like the back of my hand would come off if I moved wrong. 

"It's okay, darling," he said, scooting a little closer. "You'll be fine."

"I know," I sighed. The nurse gave me a little wink and drew the curtain, and waited outside.

"I'm sorry about this," I said, adjusting myself on the bed so I could sit up a bit more. 

"Sorry about what? That you have a kidney stone? Like it's your fault?"

"Well...I just hate you having to deal with this when you're supposed to be--"

"Stop." His voice was low, but firm. He squeezed my fingers, careful to avoid the bruise on my hand. "This is not a bother. You are not a bother. It's my first chance to take care of you, after you coddled me when I hurt my arm in a stupid accident. Maybe this makes me a bad person but I'm actually rather glad I'm getting this chance."

I shook my head. "You have no idea what you're getting. You were at least sweet and adorable. I'm a horrible whiny brat when I'm sick."

"Then you get to be MY horrible whiny brat." He kissed my hand again. His fingers stroked my hair, and it was all rather soothing. He brushed at the worry lines on my forehead, and just smiled reassuringly. "Okay?"

I sighed. "All right."

The doctor came, checked in with me, assured me as Tom had assured me. He warned me again that it might take two tries, but I told him in no uncertain terms he'd get it all the first time. I was pleasant about it, but I'm sure I was a bit of a bitch as well.

I get like that when I'm sick. Tom just smirked and shook his head.

The anesthesiologist showed up, and Tom made the plain request that maybe they could give me something to calm me down. We'd been making pleasant enough conversation, but I'm sure he heard my tone in my replies and wanted to settle me. As soon as the injection went into my IV, it went through me like a shot.

And then everything went sort of rubbery.

"Wow," I whispered, sinking back into the pillow.

"Any way we could get a few of those to go?" Tom joked.

I didn't care about anything at that point. I felt good. I felt amazingly good. I felt like a Saturday morning in school when you wake up hazy and drowsy and realize it's the weekend and you can go back to sleep. 

"Okay, time to say goodbye," the anesthesiologist said.

I waved at Tom. "Bye Tom."

Tom leaned down and kissed my forehead. "See you soon, darling."

I grabbed at his fingers as he pulled away, and tried to kiss them, but I think I missed and kissed my own hand instead. "Bye bye...I love you. And your magnificent, veiny hands."

I didn't realize what I said. Tom's face, caught in a grin, froze. Those eyebrows went up, the one on the right a little higher than the other. But they were already taking me away down the hall. I didn't even think about it or think about his face -- which I'd barely seen -- until much, much later.

Until then I had other things going on.

\---------------

I didn't even remember going under. I just remember the mask. I don't even think that poor woman got to the countdown. My first waking memory was of several people trying to move me. I only heard voices, didn't feel any jostling. Somehow I was back in my bed, fading in and out. The nurse, who was different than the one before, encouraged me to wake up. 

It wasn't easy. I was groggy, drugged. Nurse Penny had warned me I would feel like I had to pee right away, but that there wouldn't be anything there to pee. I immediately said I had to go to the bathroom.

I did manage a bit. The unnamed nurse was impressed that I had such a strong bladder. 

"Where's Tom?" I asked as I got dressed. I could manage the underwear, but not the bra. I didn't give much of a care at this point that he'd see me out of a bra -- I just didn't have the energy.

"He's outside. When they come get you in the wheelchair, he'll bring the car around to pick you up. But first you have to go to the pharmacy for your medications."

After a second trip to the bathroom, the guy with the electric wheelchair came to get me. I nearly vomited all over the floor when he tried to get me into the pharmacy but couldn't quite get over the bump of the threshold without jostling me three times. And then I realized I didn't have my purse.

I'd given all of that to Tom.

They had to take me all the way out to the back exit, where his car was waiting, and get my purse from him, then go back. He was so apologetic, but I was too hazed out to listen or even care. I promised myself I'd reassure him when I got into the car -- I just wanted my medicine so I could go home and lie down.

He followed us into the pharmacy, where everyone stared at him in that way that said they thought they recognized him but couldn't quite place him. I put all my energy into listening to the pharmacist and the instructions, and I know Tom was listening, taking notes. I felt crazy grateful for that. 

He insisted on paying for the medications, which I didn't have the strength to fight, and then just about tried to carry me to the car, even though I could get in myself. The best I let him do was lift my feet in after me. Before closing the door he kissed my cheek, smoothed my hair, and even tipped the guy with the wheelchair.

I didn't talk much on the way home. He played quiet music from my iPod, but there was no chance I was going to drift off. He took it slow, not wanting to jostle me at all. He knew where they'd gone in to get the stones, and that everything downstairs was pretty much a giant pain.

Literally.

He carried in everything. Wanted to carry me in as well but I was crawling out of the car and at the stairs by the time he came back for me. He gently wrapped his arm around me and got a good grip under the arm tucked against him. I leaned hard as I ascended, knowing he wouldn't let me fall. 

Once inside, I headed straight for the couch. "Don't you want the bed, darling?"

I shook my head, laid down. He pulled my shoes off, and took a throw blanket down to drape it over me. 

"Thirsty?"

"Yeah." He brought me some ginger ale. I'd stocked up on it and a bunch of other stuff for the next couple days. He held the straw to my lips as I sipped, and sat down on the floor right next to me.

"I have a confession to make," I said, my arm tiredly reaching over and my hand dropping on his head, on those soft curls. 

He chuckled, took my hand from his head and kissed my wrist. "What is it, my love?"

"I don't sleep on my bed."

Maybe it was the leftover anesthetic, but I swear to God his face dropped. Then it quickly regrouped into a bemused grin. "What?"

"I don't sleep on my bed," I said again. "I sleep out here, on the couch. I haven't slept on my bed in a few years. My parents came to visit and they flipped the mattress or something and I don't know what my dad did and now I can't get comfortable on it. Every time I sleep on it my back hurts. So I sleep on the couch. I love my couch." I made a wiggling motion, as if to emphasize. "I know that's weird."

"It's...quirky. Why don't you just buy a new bed?"

"None of them are soft enough. I want one of those sleep number beds but I can't seem to save enough for it." I sighed, and then started to lift myself up. "And I have to pee again."

It was a nearly endless cycle. Get up, pee. Lie down, have to get up again, pee. I barely went more than a few drops each time, but it had to be done, my insides insisted. 

Tom brought out the blanket and pillows from the bedroom, so when I came back the first time, the couch was made up for me. I didn't have the energy to reach up for his cheek, so when I laid down I grasped his hand and kissed it, earning me a chuckle. 

I managed to doze off for a few hours, but was rudely awakened by my stomach turning. I threw off the blanket and managed to make it to the bathroom just in time. 

It was the anesthetic, I suspected that much. I was surprised it had taken that long.

Tom was in the doorway in a second. He came over, pulled back my hair, said soothing things. Asked me if I wanted to brush my teeth or use mouthwash or whatever as I got up and managed to sit down on the toilet. I waved him off, said I needed to pee again. 

When I emerged, teeth brushed, I realized he was in the kitchen. Washing my dishes.

Oh hell. I hadn't cleaned the kitchen in a while. I hadn't done dishes in at least four or five days. The garbage...the counters...it had to have been a mess in there. I'd been in too much pain to do anything about it.

I stepped through the door and was amazed to see things had been organized, counters wiped, the stovetop cleaned, and now he was finishing the last of the dishes. There was a bucket on the floor and my mop sitting by the doorway.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He turned, a bit startled. "Oh, how are you feeling? Maybe some more ginger ale---?"

"You're cleaning my kitchen," I answered myself.

"I am," he confessed. "I needed something to do. I admit I had a bunch of nervous energy and couldn't quite sit still to read in your chair."

"But you're cleaning. My kitchen."

"Yes, darling. I'm almost done, actually, didn't take very long. If you sleep long enough I'll tackle the bathroom next."

"Tom, why are you..." I stopped, flushing. "God, it was so filthy, wasn't it?"

He gave me a look, his face scrunched in a particular way that clearly told me he wanted to agree but knew it wouldn't be polite. "I knew you'd been in pain, it's understandable that you'd get behind."

I facepalmed. "Oh, God..."

"Sweetheart, please stop upsetting yourself. It's fine, I'm happy to do it."

I turned, headed back to the couch. I could hardly look at him. I knew how filthy it had all been -- it had been a month since the cleaning lady had come and I knew how neglectful I could be, even without the pain. 

"I don't deserve you," I whimpered as he started to cover me again.

His chuckle. It was so sweet. "I'm sure if the situation were reversed you'd do the same."

"I hate cleaning," I said, knowing it was the wooziness talking. "I never do it. I hired someone to come in and clean when you first started coming over. I hadn't gotten her back, I was going to but I didn't--"

"Oh." He smoothed the blanket over my shoulder. "No big deal. I have a cleaning service, too. You work long hours--"

"I am a slob," I said, half into the pillow.

Tom sat down beside me, held up cold ginger ale to my lips. I took the straw and sipped. "You're my slob," he said sweetly.

I reached out and stroked his curls again, then my hand drifted down and I rubbed at his scruff. "God I love you like this..."

His face instantly colored. His chin tilted down but his eyes came up again, taking on that puppy dog glow that destroyed me. Those fucking eyebrows...

"What?" I asked.

"Before...when they were taking you away... No, nevermind. We'll talk about it when you're...sober."

"I am sober, Tom. I just puked out whatever was in my system. I'm just achy."

"You need one of the painkillers? It's about time when they said you could take the first one." He got up, went into the kitchen, came back with the pill. "You have to sit up to take it."

I managed that. I swallowed the painkiller, but knew it would take a bit for it to kick in. 

What he'd said...or started to say. I searched my memory. When they'd taken me away, I'd said something...

And then I remembered.

I'd told him I loved him. And something about his hands...

It was casual, a goodbye. Goodbye, I love you. But I meant it. I know I meant it. I don't care what drugs I was on, I loved this man. This sweet, caring, devastating, awkward, modest, humble, proud, sexy, adorable man. 

I looked at him, wondering what to say. He sat at my feet, his elbow resting on the couch by my thigh. 

"Want me to rub your legs?" he offered.

I almost sputtered. He knew I had issues with my knees, and lying down too long made them stiff. 

But no. I gathered myself.

"What you were asking me before," I said. "What I said to you when they were carting me off. I remember."

His cheeks turned pink again. "You do?"

I nodded. "I meant it. I know I was drugged, it slipped. It may have been a casual I love you...but I do."

I don't know why I wasn't afraid to tell him that. Maybe it had something to do with all the trust we'd been building-- especially after our conversation on St. Valentine's day. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he had plainly said he was serious about me, that we had a future. You didn't get more serious than "I love you," at least not at our stage. 

I sighed. "I'm afraid you won't believe me because of my current state..."

Tom got up, sat on the couch next to me. He put an arm around my shoulders. "I've been trying to figure out a way to tell you for about two weeks now," he said. "I was...I was afraid to say it first. I know that's silly, and I know this isn't the time, I shouldn't have brought it up, but when you said it..."

I smiled up at him. I rubbed my face against the crook of his arm, savoring his smell. "I'm still worried you'll forget me when you leave," I mumbled.

He kissed my head through my hair. "Maybe I should put you in my suitcase and take you along," he threatened playfully. "Give you enough of this stuff and I could pretty much do what I want."

"You don't want to go down there right now, believe me," I grunted, leaning heavier against him. 

He tried not to laugh as he said, "That isn't what I meant! You dirty minded little girl."

"Mmm...." My eyes felt too heavy.

"I love you," he whispered against my ear. 

"I love you too," I replied, the words stirring me enough to get me to turn and kiss his cheek. Then I grabbed my pillow, placed it against his thigh, and slid down to get more comfortable. Tom grabbed the blanket and pulled it over my shoulders. 

"Tom...can you do something for me?"

"Name it."

I took his hand and brought it to my face. "Will you...stroke my face for me? Please? When I was little and feeling sick my mother would do it for me until I fell asleep. Please?"

His hand went to my forehead, the fingers tracing across and then down the side of my face. They ended in a circle along my cheek, where he came back up and started again.

"Like that?"

"Uh huh..." After a few minutes I was sound asleep.

\-------------------------------

The next two days were pretty much the same thing. And to make matters worse, I started my period.

It wasn't scheduled to come yet, the stress must have triggered it early. But it made it hard to determine if I was bleeding because of the procedure, which they'd told me to expect. They said it the bleeding lasted too long, to come back to the emergency room. It had been three days. Finally I figured it out, when the cramping started.

Tom cleaned my bathroom, like he said he might. He brought me movies, a few of them his own, so that I could watch him, after I left, if I needed a fix. I told him watching him was nothing like being with him.

Although seeing him in "Unrelated" was a bit of a jolt. That was the teenager I'd severely crushed on. The man who sat beside me...he was the one I'd fallen in love with. That I wanted to make a life with.

On the fourth day, I had started to feel like my normal self, and was able to eat more than the chicken soup and crackers that Tom made for me. He took me out for a very light breakfast, and we went for a walk at the nearby arboretum, where the warm weather confused the flowers and made some of them bloom. 

But that night, a very sharp pain stabbed me in the side. It startled me, as the only pain I'd experienced had been from the site of the procedure, not from my kidney itself. I was almost out of pain killer -- and I really hesitated to ask for a refill. 

I was back at work for one day. One full day, where everyone asked if I was okay, everyone did their best not to put me through any paces, offered to bring things to me, and generally treated me like gold. It was nice to be coddled. I considered that it had gotten around that my famous boyfriend had been here at the hospital with me, but the departments were separated, and no pictures had shown up of us as far as I knew. 

The next morning, though. The next morning the pain ripped through me so hard I couldn't breathe. 

"What's wrong?" Cynthia asked me as I slowly sank into my chair. "You're pale as a sheet!"

"It...hurts," I whispered. "Something's....wrong."

"Can you walk?" Cynthia asked, taking control. "We're getting you to the ER. If not, I'll get you a wheelchair."

I shook my head, tried to stand. The pain intensified. Cynthia ran off to get an orderly and a wheelchair.

As soon as they had me in the ER, they checked me in. The blood pressure cuff, temperature, the standard rigmarole. In the process, the pain had started to ebb again. I was able to breathe, to be calm. But I knew something was really, really wrong.

The nurse was a lovely older woman named Martha. She made sure I was settled, and told me the doctor would be there soon -- a new one, judging by her age, but one I had seen before a few times. Dr. Bajara was efficient but had an excellent beside manner. She ordered an IV for me with morphine for the pain, and also ordered urine tests, an ultra sound to check the stint they had put in for drainage from the kidney stone removal, and an X-ray of the stint, to be safe. It took a while, and in the process the pain came back. 

If I thought the IV process the first time was difficult, this time was an utter nightmare. They tried both the backs of my hands, and both the insides of my arms before they were finally able to get it in the exact place where they had first started. But once the morphine started to flow, I thought I would feel better.

They must not have given me enough. I was in such pain that I could hardly obey the poor ultra sound technician when he told me to draw and hold my breath. When they brought me back after all tests, and I could finally relax in my room, Martha assured me they would get me more morphine, and some cold water, as I was utterly dehydrated. That was probably the main reason why they hadn't been able to get a vein for the IV tube easily.

When Martha wheeled me back into my room, there was Tom, sitting in the only other chair. He popped out of the seat.

"Michelle!" he cried. "Are you okay?"

"She's fine," Martha was quick to assure him.

"How did you--" I managed, as Martha slid me into place and went for the morphine.

"Cynthia called me," Tom said, his hair mussed, his complexion pale. "Said it was probably complications from the kidney stone removal."

I scowled. "Why did she call you? How did she even get your number?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Tom asked. "And she used your phone."

"I didn't mean it like that," I grumbled, and thank God Martha came back quickly with the morphine. It went in and I felt it almost instantly. "I just...they're taking care of me."

"I can see that." Tom offered Martha a dazzling grin as she left again, this time for the water. He brushed the hair off my forehead and sat down as close as he could, his other hand grasping mine. He saw the bruises from the failed IV stick in the middle of my arm and flinched -- they were dark purple, red and blue. "What is--?"

"Had a hard time finding a vein," I mumbled. Martha returned with the water, which Tom instantly offered to take, and then pulled the curtain to give us privacy. It was a small room, just us, but one wall was made of windows and the curtain helped. She also pulled the door mostly shut.

"Tom," I whispered, "can you shut off the lights?" I pointed up, they were right in my face. Tom immediately complied. "And I'm glad she called you, but I'm surprised she picked you, and not my brother."

Tom returned to his seat, taking my arm that was IV free, and idly stroked the inside of my arm, fingers tracing around that awful bruise that didn't hurt at all. "She was going to, my number was up on your recent contacts first. And I think," he said, giving me a little wink, "that she thought you might want me, instead."

I managed a grin -- which was easy, loopy on morphine. "I'm so thirsty."

Tom poured me a second glass -- I had downed the first. He warned me to sip this time, but it was a useless warning. 

"So what's wrong?"

"It hurts," I said. "I've had two attacks this morning. One the night before last."

"And you didn't say something?" I could hear how he struggled to keep his voice civil.

"I didn't know what it was. I thought it was one of those, it hurts because it's healing things. But this morning Cynthia rushed me down here. They've taken tests, it just wait and see now."

There was a knock at the door. "Yeah!" I called, and the door was pushed open to reveal Dr. Bajara. 

"Hello," she said, smiling at Tom.

"This is Tom," I said as the doctor introduced herself. 

"So what's going on?" Tom asked.

Dr. Bajara turned to me. "It's okay," I said at her hesitation. "He's my boyfriend."

Tom looked down at me. There was a smile on his face, but something also...sad. 

"Well, the urine test says you have a mild infection," the doctor explained. "I'm going to put you on some antibiotics. The stint is fine, it's in place where it should be, and the ultrasound didn't show anything. After that, we're waiting for the urologist that's on call to take a look."

"Ok," I whispered. "So just waiting right now?"

"That's pretty much it. We'll keep you comfortable. How's the pain?"

"Better now, with the morphine."

"Do you think they'll have to do any more surgery?" Tom asked.

"No!" I said, a bit too quickly. "No, I just go over that stinking anesthetic...I swear that made me more sick than anything!"

"I don't think so," Dr. Bajara said. "I'll have Martha bring the antibiotic and hook you up. Let her know the minute the pain returns." She nodded, smiled and excused herself.

"Seems young," Tom said as he sat back down.

"She's nice," I said, and motioned toward the lights. "Toooom," I whined.

He turned the lights off again, and resumed his caress of my arm. 

"What were you doing?" I asked hazily. "When Cynthia called you?"

"Trying to figure out when I can come back," Tom said. "I don't want to leave without knowing how long it will be until I can see you again."

I smiled up at him. "That's adorable," I said. "But I know how much you love London."

Tom sighed. "I have a play coming up, rehearsals start in April. I was considering extending my stay here for the rest of the month -- or at least another week."

"I'll be working," I muttered.

"You get off at seven. A few hours is better than nothing. And you'll be off again before I go."

"So what's the play again? I know it's Shakespeare..."

"Alls Well That End Well," Tom said. He blushed a bit. "I play a pretty horrible scoundrel, Count Bertram."

He proceeded to tell me all about it. How his character is forced to marry the heroine, Helena, and how she is of low birth so the marriage was a reward to her for saving the King's life. Bertram flees the marriage, telling his wife that unless she gets his ring and becomes pregnant with his child, he could never be her husband. In typical Shakespearean fashion, a series of switches and mistaken identities lead Helena to get both, and in the end the guy is chastened enough and promises to be a good husband.

I had to snort. "Trying to lampoon your good boy image?"

Tom shrugged. "I'd like to think that as he goes along, he matures, and by the end he does realize Helena's worth."

"I don't quite get how a man can have sex with a woman and not realize she's not who he was supposed to be with. I mean, even in the dark."

Tom chuckled. "I fail to see why Bertram is worth all the trouble Helena goes through for him. I have to try and redeem him somehow."

"You'll make all the fangirls faint and swoon like you did with Coriolanus," I said with a yawn. 

Tom's hands start the familiar trail up and down my cheek like they did before, stroking my face to soothe me. "You need to rest a bit," he said. "Want me to get your phone from Cynthia? See if she called your brother?"

"Even if she did, he's at work and couldn't just come," I sighed. "Yeah, I need to talk to him." But by the time Tom came back, I had dozed off.

\------------------------

The urologist who was on call wasn't quite sure what happened, but at the very least, the pain did not come back that day.

His theory was that sometimes the remaining dust that is left after the kidney stone is blasted can mix with a blood clot and form something stone-like. The only way to treat it was with a stint, which I already had put in. So there was nothing much to do except give me more antibiotics and pain pills, and wait for the stint to come out, which it would within the next four days. 

They let me walk out of the ER that late afternoon, but Tom was glued to my side. I felt weak, but otherwise much better.

Cynthia, who had been covering for me, was able to sneak down during her lunch break to check on me, and told me that they'd get coverage for me for the next two days. I tried to argue but Tom wouldn't let me. It wasn't the first time Tom and Cynthia had met -- we had all met for lunch around the corner from the hospital about two weeks ago, so that he could meet my work mom. 

"I'm hungry," I told him as he got me into his car. 

"For what?"

"Mexican," I said. "I haven't eaten anything all day but a few crackers."

"We can go wherever you like," he said. That sad look crossed his face again.

"What is it?" I asked, reaching out to stop him from starting the car. 

"I just...I'm just sad to be leaving, that's all," he said honestly. "And when you called me your boyfriend, it sort of hit me..."

"You *are* my boyfriend," I pointed out. I was still feeling a bit of the aftereffects of the morphine, I was sure. "I told you I love you."

"I love you," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "I just hate that we live so far apart. I hate that I have to leave. I hate that I won't be here to help in case something like this happens again."

I squeezed his hand, which I had grasped to pull it away from the starter. "We'll figure it out," I said. "And London is your home. You've told me so much about it..."

Tom looked away, and I could see his wheels spinning. "You have to come visit," he said, breaking the tension.

I nodded. "I will. During the summer, at the very least, when I take my vacation. I promise."

He gave me a little smile. Maybe when I was myself again, and all this drama had passed, which had to be before he left, we would talk again. Until then, my boyfriend was here, driving me home. That was good enough for now.


End file.
